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seeker’s provisions.
    Wood splintered. Chickens flapped free. One flew at the mule, sending it racing down the wharf, the owner in futile pursuit. The coachman had left his seat and stood at the side of his team, calming them with his voice and his hands.
    After the chaos of the last few minutes, the wharf seemed almost silent. Duncan went to assess what damage had been done to Fitzcairn. As he helped his friend roll over and sit up, a chicken nestled gently on Fitzcairn’s head. Duncan tried to shoo it away.
    Laughter, bright shiny laughter, sounded in the air.
    Both Immortals looked up. A woman, framed by the carriage window, looked out at them. She had dark golden hair and a delicate, almost elfin face.
    “Are y’all all right?” she asked. There was a touch of the South in her voice.
    Duncan stepped forward, leaving Fitzcairn among the chickens.
    “No harm done. Except to my friend’s dignity.” He smiled warmly. “I’m Duncan MacLeod.”
    Fitzcairn scrambled to his feet. Picking feathers from his jacket, he jostled Duncan aside. “And I’m Hugh Fitzcairn. I do hope this little incident hasn’t spoiled the day for a lady as lovely as yourself.”
    A feather wafted slowly past his nose as he spoke.
    The woman stifled a giggle. She seemed about to respond when the coachman approached. He whispered something. She frowned, and nodded.
    As he climbed up and took the reins in his hand, the woman gave a smile and a small wave to the two Immortals.
    “Mr. MacLeod. Mr. Fitzcairn. ’Bye now. You two be careful, you hear?”
    She sat back and the carriage pulled away.
    Fitz sighed. Duncan turned, regarding him with a critical eye.
    “You’ve more than just chicken feathers in your hair, I swear. I don’t think we’ll be impressing anyone at the Transportation Company this afternoon.”
    “Oh, and it’s my fault the jackass got loose again, I suppose? Who let go of the rope first, Highlander?”
    “And what was I to do? Stand there and have us be run down?”
    “Well,” Fitz replied, “that would have gotten the lady’s attention.” He cocked his head thoughtfully. “No doubt she would have wanted to nurse me back to health, tending to me personally, day and—”
    Duncan pulled a feather from Fitzcairn’s hair. A strand or two came with it.
    “Ow,” he protested. “Off with you now, Highlander.”
    “Off with ye, ye endless lecher. Back to the hotel with us both.”
    Fitz nodded. “We can clean up.” He brushed at his sleeve. “And give young Danny a chance to wander about if he wants.”
    They began walking toward the steep streets that led away from the water.
    “Should we have supper in the room tonight, do you think?” Duncan asked. “If Danny goes out, it might be best to eat in.”
    “The room. The restaurant. It matters not to me.” Fitz grimaced as he ran a hand through his curls, combing out more feathers and bits of unidentifiable debris. “As long as supper does not involve, in any way, shape, or form, chicken.”
    They were all alike then, Danny thought. All the places where the ships came and went. He remembered walking the levee at midnight, the Mississippi sparkling under a golden full moon. The air was so still and thick that you could near reach out and grab it. Yet the men were there, working. Black, white, and all the colors in between that New Orleans folk had a string of names for. They were loading and unloading the ships that came downriver from the North and upriver from the Gulf.
    He stood at the end of Schwabacher’s Dock staring up at the huge bulk of the
Portland.
Though it was late in the day, the sun was only now setting. He could see the ship clearly. Supplies were already piled on deck, and the crew were making her ready to set forth.
    At supper, Hugh and Mr. MacLeod had concluded that since all else had failed, they must needs try bribing the booking agent.
    And if bribery did not work? Danny did not want to ask. He did not want to have it said that their